And Absolute Power Corrupts Absolutely
by Insomniac-Angel
Summary: In a world where everyone develops a special power in adolescence and bears a Mark identifying their talent, Blaine Anderson keeps his secret, for very good reason.  Life at McKinley isn't going to let him keep it for long, though. Kink meme fill.
1. Chapter 1

Hello,

So here I'm venturing into a more supernatural/AU version of the Glee 'verse, with another fill for the Glee Kink Meme (and yes, rating is going to go up eventually...it's from a _kink_ meme, after all.) I'm not going to repost the whole prompt, but the general gist is: Everyone in this world develops some kind of super power during puberty, and a brand appears on their body that has something to do with what their power is. Blaine hides his from everyone because he has a power that no one should have, and he's always been taught that he can't ever, ever use it on someone. When he transfers to McKinley, though, the bullying becomes so bad that he finally snaps...and it turns out he was always told never to use his power on anyone for a very, very good reason.

BE WARNED. The parameters of this prompt wanted: humiliation, dub and noncon, lots of sex, and sexual slavery. If any of that squicks you, I'd advise you not read. It'll take a while yet to GET to all that stuff, but yeah, it'll be there. Also, there is established **Kurtosfsky** in this. I put the main characters as Kurt and Blaine because the story will more or less focus on them, and there will be eventual Klaine...but Blaine gets pretty dark in this.

Still with me? Yay! Then please enjoy :)

Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the rightful owners of any recognizable elements herein. Please don't sue.

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><p>When Blaine Anderson was eleven, his teacher stood at the head of his classroom and told the boys to line up with Mr. Henderson, the gym teacher. The girls were to remain in their seats and wait for Ms. Ericson, the volleyball coach. The boys dutifully trooped to the front of the room, soft whispers of curiosity and excitement already buzzing through the line. Mr. Henderson led them through the hallways down to the gym, where a projector and screen had been set up, as well as a couple of microphones.<p>

Two men in dark suits were standing by the projector cart, smiling politely as Mr. Henderson directed all the boys to sit on the floor in neat rows in front of the screen. Blaine, as well as most of the boys, already had a pretty good idea of what they were going to be talking about, and the buzzing only increased. Blaine ignored the whispering and giggling, drawing his legs up underneath him and resting his elbows on his bent knees. Idly, he studied the men, his eyes drifting over the mesh-covered cutout on one's left shoulder blade that revealed a pale green Mark in the shape of a curling vine.

As Blaine watched, the Mark undulated and writhed across the exposed skin of his shoulder blade, twisting in on itself before unwinding and crawling upwards towards his neck. The other man's Mark was high on the side of his neck-high enough that he didn't have to modify his clothes—a sharply defined hawk in a deep, dark brown. The hawk preened and ruffled its feathers every few seconds, flapping its wings when the man turned his head.

Blaine wondered if the man could achieve a full transformation—the Mark was almost as dark and well-defined as the wolf that danced and howled across his grandfather's forearm, and Grandpa could change all the way.

"All right kids, quiet down!" Mr. Henderson barked, and the floor underneath them trembled just a bit. Instantly, they silenced themselves, turning their full attention to the two men at the front of the gym.

The man with the vine Mark smiled warmly at them, clapping his hands together in a lame show of excitement. "Hi boys! My name is Mr. Santos, and this is my friend Mr. Harris. We're here to talk to you today about something very important. Can anyone guess what we're going to talk about?" Mr. Santos's voice was falsely cheerful, and even from a few rows back, Blaine could see the boredom in his dark eyes. Even so, several of the other boys raised their hands, waving them wildly. Mr. Santos pointed at a random boy in the first row.

"Our Marks!" the boy, a total teacher's pet by the name of Jonathan, chirped brightly. Mr. Santos flashed a toothy smile.

"That's right! You and your classmates are getting to the age where your Marks are going to start appearing, and your talents are going to show themselves. Mr. Harris and I are going to talk to you about what you can expect to happen, and give you some things to look at with your parents. We have a neat video for you to watch, and then we're going to talk about it, okay?" Mr. Santos nodded to Mr. Harris, who pushed a button on the projector.

On the screen, a couple of happy-looking teenagers appeared and started talking about what a special time it was when a person's Mark appeared, and how it was a natural part of growing up. Blaine rested his chin on his hands and promptly started thinking about the level that he was trying to beat in Mario Kart. Several of the other boys—mostly those with older brothers or sisters—also tuned out, though no one dared to start talking or whispering with Mr. Henderson right there watching.

It wasn't like the video was telling them anything _new_. Blaine's dad had sat him down that summer and they'd talked about the Marks. Blaine had already asked all the questions he had about them, and his dad had answered with the same brusque straightforwardness he'd used when talking about "the birds and the bees" a few months later when Blaine's mother had found him trying to stuff his own sheets into the washer with a bright red face.

He already knew his own Mark would show up sometime in the next few years (his mom had gotten hers when she was eleven…Dad's hadn't shown up until he was almost fifteen). He already knew that once his mark appeared, he'd be expected to show it in public or wear a tag that identified his talent if his Mark appeared in a place he was embarrassed to show. He already knew that the darker and clearer his Mark, the stronger his talent would be. He even already knew that he had a pretty good chance of his talent being some kind of shapeshifting ability (as his maternal grandfather, his dad, and two uncles were all shifters of some degree), but that it could be something completely different than anyone in his family.

He already knew these things…and the teenagers in the video were _way_ too happy about "having a very pale Mark, or a talent that's not as obvious as other people's" being perfectly normal and still something to celebrate. Blaine was pretty sure even Mr. Henderson rolled his eyes at the overly peppy voiceovers and poorly-acted 'scenarios' in the video.

Still, Blaine forced himself to look like he was paying attention, to smile and raise his hand with a question he already knew the answer to when it was over. He took the little booklet with the cartoony _Me__and__my__Mark_ title emblazoned over a picture of a racially diverse group of smiling children proudly showing off their Marks and not caring at all that two of them had Marks that were so pale they were barely visible, and one apparently had the ridiculous talent of being able to make things sparkle. He solemnly promised that he would go over everything they'd talked about today with his parents, and clapped for the speakers after chorusing a 'thank you!' with the rest of his classmates.

Then he filed out of the gym with the others, and didn't really spare another thought to Marks until Heather Maloney came back to school after Christmas break with a slate-gray thundercloud billowing its way across her cheek and jawline. At recess that day, she stood on the soccer field, surrounded by almost all of her classmates, and closed her eyes. Everyone gasped appreciatively when a cloud about the size of a beach ball slowly formed over their heads, then shrieked in laughter when a few fat drops of rain began drizzling down, quickly turning to slush in the cold air of Ohio's winter.

A few other kids in Blaine's grade got their Marks that year, but Blaine was not one of them. Lots of the other boys in his class didn't have their yet, and of the classmates who did, Heather's remained the most impressive. The ones who had their Marks switched into another gym period, one designed to help them learn how to use and control their talents. Blaine wished a little bit that he was joining them…but it was more because he was curious about what kind of Mark he'd have, than any real jealousy.

His Mark didn't show up that school year. Or the next.

In fact, it wasn't until the summer before he started high school that he woke up with a weird, itchy sensation across his chest. He actually expected to find some kind of insect bite or rash when he took his shirt off to get in the shower, but the skin of his chest was unblemished, except for the little patch of coarse hair that was starting to come in over his pectorals. As the day went on, the itching intensified, centering right on his breastbone. By dinner time, it had started to burn a little as well, though he couldn't really say it was painful. Just…uncomfortable. Like the skin over that part of his body had suddenly shrunk too small.

He found it disconcerting enough that he told his parents at dinner. His mother immediately demanded that he raise his shirt, but when there still proved to be no rash or irritation, she merely exchanged a knowing look with his father.

"Well honey, looks like we're going to have to get your school clothes altered…unless you'd rather just wear a tag," his mother said, patting his cheek affectionately.

"Huh?" he replied stupidly. The only people who needed tags were people who…oh.

_Oh._

His parents chuckled as comprehension dawned on his face, his father reaching over to pat him on the back. They spent the rest of the meal casually speculating what Blaine's talent would be. He rather hoped his father was right and he would be able to take on the form of some animal, like both his dad and his grandfather. Then again, he reflected, looking to where his mother's blouse had a tastefully sheer patch over the left side of her ribcage, where a whirlwind of navy blue could be seen constantly churning and spinning, something like being able to affect the weather would be neat.

His mom wrapped an ice pack up in a towel for him right before he went to bed, pecking him on the cheek with a proud smile. "My little boy, growing up so fast," she sighed, and Blaine ducked his head bashfully. He took a couple of aspirin and lay in bed with the TV on, though he wasn't really paying attention to what was on the screen. Every now and again he would scratch his chest, though it didn't really help the itching.

The strange, aching itch persisted for a few days, long enough that Blaine thought the constant irritation might drive him crazy. His mom clucked sympathetically, noting that it had taken her older sister's Mark a whole week to come in. Blaine groaned and thumped his head on the dining room table a few times when she told him that, prompting both his parents to laugh brightly.

He spent the rest of the night sulking in his room.

On the fourth day, though, he woke up to realize that the itching was gone. He blinked sleepily for a few seconds, staring at the damp spot on his shirt where the melting ice pack had soaked through a little despite the towels. Then, he grinned widely and jumped up off the bed. He darted over to the full-length mirror hanging on his closet door, yanking his shirt over his head as he went.

He thought he had prepared himself for whatever he might find. He'd been _hoping_ it would be something cool like the golden lion that regarded the world regally from his father's back. Maybe something like the silvery lightning bolts that crackled on his aunt's wrist. He'd even told himself he wouldn't mind if it wasn't something awesome like shapeshifting or weather control. When he actually looked at his Mark, though, he was confused.

It started just below his collar bones, stretching down his chest and ending just above his navel. The shape was strange…a narrow, inverted teardrop, with spiraling twist to the point. The Mark's edges were rippling lazily, as though he was looking at something that was underwater, but that was the only movement.

The shape wasn't what bothered him…not all Marks were literal representations of a person's talent. Several of his classmates had ended up with very abstract Marks. All of his relatives had Marks that were pretty on-the-nose in regards to their talents, but he knew that didn't really mean anything. It wasn't unusual for someone's Mark to be completely different from any other Mark in their family.

No…what had his eyes widening, his breath catching in his throat, was the fact that his Mark was completely, utterly pitch black.

He'd never seen a Mark that color…didn't even know they could _be_ that color. The general rule was the darker the color, the stronger a person's talent. What on earth did it mean that his was _that_ dark? Hell, what did this mean his talent was?

"Blaine, honey, are you up yet?" His mother's voice floated through his half-opened door, and he heard her knock lightly a moment later. The door swung open, and he turned around to face her, his mouth opening to ask her what she thought his Mark was.

The question died in his throat, though, when he saw her expression. Her eyes were locked on his Mark, and gone so wide he could see the whites all around. Her hands flew to her mouth, the laundry basket she had been carrying falling to the floor with a thump.

"Mom…Mom, what? What's wrong?" he asked softly, not sure that he wanted her to answer. Because his mother didn't look confused, or surprised.

His mother looked afraid.


	2. Chapter 2

The sun had finally come up about half an hour ago. Blaine leaned his head against the cool glass of the passenger side window, watching disinterestedly as miles of cornfields and cow pastures started to give way to actual signs of civilization. The radio was playing softly, some classical station his mother favored. The music wasn't anything Blaine particularly enjoyed, but he made no move to change the station. Beside him, his mother's attention stayed firmly on the road in front of them, nothing but silence between them.

He'd grown so used to silence that it wasn't even awkward anymore.

Turning his attention away from the scenery outside the car, he glanced down at his clothes. Stylish, in an off-beat, retro sort of way that he knew suited him…but he missed the crisp lines of his Dalton uniform, the way the blazer and tie had felt like a protective armor. He missed Dalton. He'd been so happy there, after the disaster that had been his first and only year at the public high school in Westerville. He'd had friends, teachers who genuinely cared about him, and the curriculum had been amazing. With its zero-tolerance harassment policies, Blaine had felt safe and protected in a way that he hadn't since his Mark had appeared, even in the walls of his own home. And then he'd gone and ruined it.

One slip, one accidental moment in which he'd forgotten himself, forgotten his control and his secret had gotten out. His fists clenched in his lap as he remembered the frightened, betrayed faces of his friends, the tremulous edge in Jeff's voice as he asked if Blaine had ever…_done_ something to him in those few weeks they had dated after last year's Sectionals competition.

In the end, that had been what had driven him away. Dalton's board of directors had been leery of letting him stay there after they'd learned the full extent of his talent, but the fact was that if you let enough money talk, it tended to drown out even the most vocal opposition. And Blaine's parents had a _lot_ of money. He could have stayed at Dalton, but he couldn't take the way people he had considered friends had watched him so warily. He couldn't stand the way Nick, Jeff, and the other Warblers had started pulling away from him, acting like they were afraid to even touch him. He couldn't take their questioning, accusing stares.

He'd grown used to such behavior from his family. It had hurt too much to have it from his friends—especially when it had been so hard for him to trust them in the first place. God, he'd been stupid. Stupid to let his guard down, stupid to let himself depend on people again. He'd just been stupid, and now he had to transfer schools again. He had to start over again.

His only consolation in this mess was that at least he'd be out of his parents' house. He was transferring to William McKinley in Lima—a decision that his father had tried to convince him was made because McKinley was large enough that he wouldn't be put on display and gossiped about like some freak like he would have been in a smaller school, or another private school. Blaine knew that was bullshit. The New Albany and Olentangy districts in Columbus were plenty big enough to afford him anonymity. He was going to Lima because it was far enough away that his parents could start to distance themselves from the scandal he'd inadvertently created at Dalton. Less chance of something making it back to one of Dad's clients, or one of Mom's socialite friends if he was just out of sight. Out of sight, out of mind.

Hell, the only reason they hadn't shipped him to that boarding school out in California was the fact that they didn't take mid-year transfers.

The only problem was, Westerville was two hours outside of Lima's school district…and as overcrowded as public schools got, there was no way in hell McKinley was going to ignore the fact that Blaine didn't live anywhere near their zone. His parents' solution had been to ask a favor of a couple they were friendly with from Dad's firm who happened to own a small house in Lima. It had belonged to the wife's father, who had to go into a nursing home in the previous year. With the housing market being what it was, they hadn't been able to sell the place, and had instead been keeping it as a rental property…which they had gladly rented to his father.

Ostensibly, Blaine was only going to be on his own in the house for a couple of nights a week. The other days, his mother would come down and stay and they would go back to Westerville on the weekends. Blaine knew how it would go, though. Mom would be true to her word for the first couple of weeks…but then two nights a week alone would become three, and then three would become four, and there would just be _so_ much going on with this party or that charity. Eventually, she'd just leave Dad's platinum card with him so he could buy clothes and groceries and he'd be left to his own devices. He'd go back to Westerville for a weekend every now and again to assuage her conscience, but other than that, he figured this year could basically serve as practice for college.

That hurt a lot less than thinking of it in terms of his parents being willing to rent and furnish another entire residence to ensure that they didn't have to deal with him anymore.

The car turned onto what had to be the main drag of the town, and Blaine realized happily that it wasn't as godforsaken backwater as he'd been expecting. They passed several churches and restaurants—he couldn't help but crack a smile when he saw they had a BreadstiX—as well as a movie theater and a coffeehouse. His mother followed the directions on the mounted GPS, and soon they were pulling into the parking lot at William McKinley High School.

Blaine stared nervously out the window. The buses had apparently not arrived yet, but the parking lot was rapidly filling with cars and trucks. Groups of students were drifting towards the entrance of the school, and even from a distance, Blaine could see that they were loud and boisterous. He bit his lip when he saw a burly boy in a red and white letterman jacket reach out and twirl his fingers in midair, summoning up a gust of wind just as a group of cheerleaders passed. The girls squealed as their already indecently short skirts were blown up, and the jock's friends laughed uproariously, high fiving him. At Dalton, such a display would have resulted in a week's detention.

The teachers walking into the building didn't even bat an eye.

"So…we're having the furniture delivered today. I'm going to go grocery shopping once everything is set up. I'll just pick you up here at the end of the day, and we'll see about getting your car down here this weekend. All right?" His mother spoke for the first time since they had left Westerville.

"Sounds fine," he answered. "Are you co—"

"The guidance counselor will have your schedule…just ask her if you have any questions." She interrupted him without looking at him, just staring straight ahead and flexing her hands on the steering wheel.

Sometimes Blaine thought that dealing with his mother would be easier if she would just be open in her distaste for him the way his father was. From the moment he had laid eyes on Blaine's Mark, his father made no secret of the fact that he thought Blaine was a freak of nature, that there was something wrong with him. Blaine's coming out a few months after his Mark appeared had only served to drive the final nails into the coffin of their relationship. They were both just counting down the days until Blaine turned eighteen and they could be well and truly quit of each other.

His mother though-she still tried to pretend that she was okay with Blaine. She tried to pretend that her first reaction upon seeing his Mark had not been horror; that she didn't think of him as a shameful secret to be kept. However, with every stilted sentence she spoke, every moment where she uneasily averted her eyes, all she did was underscore how very much she was _not_ okay with him. Watching her stumble through conversations and force herself to spend time with him…it was somehow worse than Dad's open disdain.

"Try to have a good day," Mom said softly, and they both knew she really meant _try not to be noticed_.

He grabbed the straps of the backpack sitting between his feet and opened the passenger door, stepping out onto the parking lot. Almost as soon as he slammed the door again, his mother was starting the engine and driving off. He sighed, and resolutely tried not to remember the days when she never said goodbye without also telling him she loved him.

Here went nothing.

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><p>McKinley was big. It was loud. It was crowded and it smelled vaguely of sweat and burned tater tots. Blaine plastered a friendly smile on his face and tried to hug the wall as he walked down the hallway, looking for any signs that would point him towards the guidance counselor's office. He nodded politely to the people who met his eyes, but no one stopped to talk to him or ask if he needed some help. A few people (mostly wearing letterman jackets like the bunch from outside) looked him up and down with narrowed eyes, but he hurried past them and melted into the crowd before they had a chance to realize his Mark wasn't visible and he wasn't wearing an ID. He wasn't looking forward to that realization hitting the student body.<p>

He wandered through the hallways for several minutes before he had to admit that he was hopelessly lost. The building certainly wasn't _bigger_ than Dalton's stately campus, but it seemed a hell of a lot less organized. He'd passed the cafeteria twice now, and there seemed to be far more staircases than seemed strictly necessary. That was just what he needed—to be late to his first class on his first day. After his third turn into the cafeteria, he sighed heavily. Steeling himself internally, he stepped out into the center of the hallway and tapped a boy passing him on the shoulder.

"Excuse me…hi, can I ask you a question? I'm new here," he said.

The boy turned around with a small, polite smile and Blaine forgot how to breathe for a moment.

His eyes flicked over Blaine briefly, before he extended his hand, still with that same close-mouthed smile. "My name's Kurt."

"Blaine." He almost forgot he was supposed to reach out and shake the other boy's hand, but recovered just in time.

Kurt was _gorgeous_. Tall and lithe, with eyes that were the clearest shade of pale blue that Blaine had ever seen. His hair looked soft and silky to the touch, as did what had to be acres of pale, perfectly creamy skin. He was wearing a pair of black jeans that looked almost too tight to breathe in, paired with a designer dress shirt in pale lavender, over which he'd donned a silvery gray waistcoat and matching tie. Blaine didn't like to make assumptions, but he couldn't help the small sliver of hope that the haute-couture clothes and perfectly styled hair signaled what he thought it did. Almost immediately, he crushed that thought. That was not what he was here for. But God, the kid was attractive.

One of Kurt's shirtsleeves was slit from shoulder to wrist, and a lacing in the same silvery shade as his waistcoat and tie had been criss-crossed through it, holding the slit together loosely, but still revealing his Mark. It trailed down the entire length of his arm, the color a deep ocean blue, dark as the center of a glacier. It was a swirling, abstract pattern that seemed to shimmer slightly, specks of frosty white forming over the deep blue and building into lacey, complicated outlines. It looked as if it was continually frosting over and melting again. Beautiful. The boy was just beautiful.

"I, um, I'm looking for the guidance counselor…she's supposed to have my schedule," he said.

"Oh, that's easy. You just need to keep going down this hallway, and turn left at the science lab. Ms. Pillsbury is the last office on the right. I can walk you if you'd like." Kurt's voice was just as lovely as the rest of him, Blaine noted. High and clear as a bell…he wondered if Kurt sang.

"Yeah—yeah, that'd be great, actually. If you have time."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "I think I can spare a few minutes of McKinley's stellar academic instruction." The sarcasm in his tone was thick enough to cut with a knife. Kurt's eyes flicked over Blaine's body again, and his smile relaxed into something a little more genuine. "Especially for someone who can successfully pull off that bowtie with a herringbone pattern cardigan."

Blaine laughed a little, ducking his head as Kurt gestured for Blaine to follow him. He didn't miss the way Kurt was trying to discreetly catch a glimpse of his back, knew the other boy was trying to see if his Mark was shown, or if he was wearing an ID tag somewhere. He shifted his backpack higher on his shoulders as casually as he could, wanting to delay Kurt's discovery that he was doing neither for as long as he could. He wanted a few moments to just chat with the boy. Just a few.

"So, Blaine…what brings you to Lima? I don't think I've ever seen you around town," Kurt said as they walked down the hall.

"No. No, I just moved here. I'm from Westerville, actually."

"Oh, I'd _kill_ to live that close to the Short North," Kurt replied, casually naming off Columbus's "gay district." Well, that answered that question. "Why on Earth would you move here, of all places?"

"Yeah…it's quite a change from Columbus." He averted his eyes downward. "My mom's got family around here. Dad can work from home, so…" He trailed off, letting Kurt fill in the blanks as he wished. It wasn't a lie, exactly. His mother did have a cousin or something that lived about an hour south of Lima. And technically, his father could work from home. It just…wasn't the truth.

The warning bell sounded in the hallway and the crowd started to thin out, people drifting towards the classroom doors. Kurt didn't seem worried about possibly being late to class, continuing his leisurely place and asking Blaine about Columbus. They had almost reached the science lab, when a loud voice boomed out over the general chatter of the students.

"Hey, Hummel!" Kurt paused instantly, swinging around back the way they had just come. Blaine looked back as well, his stomach tightening as he saw yet another jock in one of those red and white jackets bearing down on them. This boy was taller than both of them, good looking in a beefy, all-American sort of way. He was big and muscular without being super cut, and had a head of light brown hair that was just long enough to curl slightly. Everything about him practically screamed "football player." Kurt crossed his arms over his chest as the jock approached, leaning back against a locker.

"Something I can help you with, Dave?" he drawled as soon as the other was in hearing distance. Blaine swallowed heavily as he caught sight of the silver-plated ID tag dangling from 'Dave's' neck. A stylized set of flames in a deep orange-red identified his talent, and Blaine groaned internally at the thought of someone with a fire talent being allowed to torment other students as he pleased, as was apparently the case at this school.

"Yeah," Dave huffed out, reaching the two of them. Blaine waited for him to bristle up, make some cutting remark or crack his knuckles or something equally as threatening. Instead…he smiled.

It changed his entire face, lightening his features to something warm and open. Confused, Blaine glanced over at Kurt, who was wearing a delighted grin that made his eyes sparkle. "Yeah," Dave said again, leaning in close to Kurt. Blaine's eyes went wide in shock as, right in the middle of a hallway full of students from rural Ohio, Dave planted his hand on the locker behind Kurt, dipped his head down, and kissed Kurt gently on the lips. It was quick, but no less affectionate for its brevity. "Missed you this morning, Fancy," Dave murmured when it was over, straightening back up and trailing his hand down Kurt's arm to lace their fingers together.

"Sorry," Kurt said softly. "Rachel called one of her 'emergency' meetings in the choir room…I've skipped the last two. Oh! I'm sorry, Blaine…Dave, this is Blaine—it's his first day here. Blaine, this is my boyfriend, Dave Karofsky."

Blaine tried very hard to convince himself that he did not feel a stab of disappointment at that.

"Hey man," Dave said easily, nodding in greeting. "You got your schedule yet?"

"No, ah, Kurt was just showing me to the counselor's office," he said.

"Which is on the other side of the building from your first class, mister," Kurt said with a pointed look at the clock hanging on the wall down the hall. Dave laughed, giving Kurt's hand a squeeze before raising both his hands in surrender.

"All right, all right, I'm going. I'll see you at lunch? Blaine, you too. Kurt usually drags me out to the courtyard with his girls. Could use another dude." Dave gave him a curious once-over, unable to hide the furrowing of his brow as he noted Blaine's clothes and lack of an ID tag. Out of the corner of his eye, Blaine saw Kurt shake his head slightly.

"That would be great…thank you," he said awkwardly. Dave nodded again, before turning his attention back to Kurt.

"I'll meet you at your locker after fourth bell."

"All right…now hurry up. You get another tardy from Jenkins, it's a detention," Kurt chided. Dave rolled his eyes and grinned at Blaine.

"He's such a slavedriver," he confided, though there was nothing but affection in his voice. He laughed as he expertly ducked Kurt's half-hearted smack against his shoulder, and took off down the hallway at a jog. "Catch you later, Fancy! Blaine, nice to meet you," he called over his shoulder. Kurt watched him go with a soft, warm smile, before turning back to Blaine.

"Well, shall we?" he asked, sweeping his arm out in a gallant flourish. Blaine schooled his features into friendliness, and nodded.

"We shall," he said. No, it was definitely not disappointment he was feeling. It wasn't.

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><p>Author note (if anyone's interested): I'm aware there's some character elements here that are, well, out of character. Those will be explained shortly and, I hope, make sense in the context of the story. There's reasons that Dave is so comfortable with himself in the environment of McKinley, etc. Hope you enjoy!<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Hello,

Many thanks for the reviews, alerts, and favorites on this. I am very glad people seem to be enjoying it. This part is a little light on action, and more background information and a little bit of teasing as to what Blaine's power is (or at least why it's such a big deal). More of the Gleeks and interaction between them and Blaine will occur next chapter.

I'm actually still trying to decide what everyone's power is going to be...some are going to be pretty powerful, and some are going to be...welll..._not._ So far I've got Rachel, Finn, Puck, Britt, and Santana decided. If anyone has suggestions for Mercedes, Quinn, Will, Rory, Tina, and Mike, I'd love to hear 'em. It's hard turning everyone super-powered!

Warnings: As stated before, this is a fill for the Glee Kink Meme. Eventually, the rating will be going up, sexytimes will be happening, and they will be a little, well, kinky. Requested kinks in the prompt include: humiliation, dub/noncon, and sexual slavery. I am also warning for established Kurtofsky (in case you saw the main character listings and came here expecting Klaine...though Klaine will be happening, eventually) and not-very-nice!Blaine.

Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the rightful owners of any recognizable characters or situations herein, and respectfully request that the rightful owners not sue me. no money is exchanging hands.

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><p><em>He huddled on his bed, the quilt wrapped around his shoulders, just staring blankly at the wall. He knew he should probably get up, go get a shower or at least wash his face. His stomach was grumbling uncomfortably, reminding him that he'd only picked at his dinner the night before, too distracted by the aching, burning itch on his chest to feel very hungry. He couldn't find the energy to move though. All he could see in his mind's eye was an endless, looping replay of his mother's expression as she looked at his Mark. The way she had hissed at him to get dressed as she ran one shaking hand through her hair before vanishing back downstairs. <em>

_He'd heard his father's voice raise in a shout a few seconds later, and his parents had not stopped arguing since. He listened to their voices drifting out of his father's study. They were too muffled to really make out anything they were saying, but it was impossible to miss the frightened, angry tones. Afraid. They were afraid…and it was with a sinking heart that Blaine realized that they were afraid of _him_._

_Blaine was scared too. He glanced down at his chest, pulling the quilt more tightly around his shoulders, and struggled to quell the sick, roiling fear in his gut. He still had no idea what his Mark meant; what it was he could do that horrified his mother so much. He'd never seen a Mark like his, never read about it or heard about it in any of his school health classes. He was trying to keep himself as still and calm as possible, terrified he might accidentally activate his talent and do something terrible. _

_He was startled out of his thoughts by the slamming of the study door. His parents' voices suddenly became clearer. "Do you know what this will do to our reputation if it gets out?" _

"_Richard, be reasonable," his mother pleaded, close to tears. Blaine bit his lip. _

"_No, __damn __it! __I __will __not __ '__be __reasonable.__' __Elaine, __you __don__'__t __know __what __it __was __like__…__growing __up __with __her, __knowing __what __she __could __do.__ Always __wondering __about __your __own __motivations, __wondering __if __you __could _trust _her __when __she __said __she __hadn__'__t __done __anything! __It__'__s__unnatural! __No __one __should __have __that __kind __of __power. __And __now __our __son-__"_

"_Exactly, __Richard, __our _son_. __How __can __you __think __he__'__ll __end __up __like__—"_

"_How __can __you __think __he _won't_?__" _

* * *

><p>With Kurt's help, Blaine found himself in the counselor's office in short order. Ms. Pillsbury was a thin, nervous-looking woman. She was very pretty, Blaine thought, but there was something slightly off-putting about the perpetual look of guarded anxiety in her wide brown eyes. She was sweet and helpful, though, apologizing profusely for not having someone meet him at the front of the school as she pulled his schedule out of a file on her desk. Her Mark was a large circle in the center of her palm, the two halves of which were shaded in green and shimmering gold. The colors were shifting constantly, swirling together in the center of the circle. The abstract pattern was common to those with some kind of empathic talent, but the colors were very faint…her talent couldn't have been all that strong.<p>

He was delighted when Kurt glanced over his schedule and informed him they would have the same French, history, and algebra classes. He would also apparently have English and biology with Kurt's boyfriend and stepbrother, which he decided he would reserve judgment over. True, Dave had seemed nice enough, and _had_ invited Blaine to join him and Kurt for lunch, but Blaine wasn't going to base his assessment on one two minute interaction. He conveniently ignored the fact that he hadn't known Kurt very much longer.

Kurt left him with a friendly touch on his arm and a promise to meet him outside his home economics class to walk with him to French. Blaine nodded happily, watching him leave (and seriously, how did he move in those jeans?), before turning his attention back to Ms. Pillsbury. She smiled gently at him as she reached for a bottle on the corner of her desk and pumped a couple of squirts of hand sanitizer into her palm. It was the third time she'd done so since he'd entered her office.

"So, Blaine," she began, her voice soft and somehow timid. "Did you have any questions about your classes, or, ah, anything?"

Blaine shifted slightly in his seat. "No, I think I'm good, actually. Kurt said he'd help me find everything…he was really nice this morning."

Ms. Pillsbury's smile warmed. "He can be, yes. Um, actually, though, there is something we need to talk about."

Blaine stiffened in his chair, and automatically schooled his features into an impassive mask. He knew it was coming, of _course_ he knew it was coming. Kurt had been polite about it—unusually so, actually—but it always became a problem sooner or later. Usually sooner.

"I was going over your file this morning, and there seems to be some information left out," she said delicately. "Specifically, we have no record of your talent."

"My parents didn't include it when they registered me at Dalton," he replied.

Ms. Pillsbury looked taken aback, glancing down at the papers in front of her and shuffling through them with small, deliberate motions. "Well, that's, ah, that's—" _unheard __of_ "unusual. Is there a particular reason why?"

Blaine kept his polite, diplomatic smile in place. "I won't be eighteen until next July, ma'am." He rattled off his standard response.

It was not actually against the law for a minor not to reveal his or her talent to the general public. Granted, it was kind of like how some states didn't have a law against marrying one's first cousin…it wasn't technically illegal, but most people found the very idea disgusting. Still, the fact remained that while it was an extreme social taboo for Blaine not to show his Mark or wear an ID tag…even the most conservative politicians had not managed to push a law through requiring it.

Ms. Pillsbury's expression went from anxious to positively deer-in-the-headlights. She blinked at him rapidly, her hands frozen in the act of shuffling through his file. "That's…well…uh, Blaine, are you sure that's _wise_?" Her voice cracked slightly on the last word.

Blaine gave a little shrug of his shoulders, raising an eyebrow slightly. "I understand it's unusual, but it's my choice."

Ms. Pillsbury set the papers down, wringing her hands slightly. "Of course, of course…just, ah, I just want you to be sure you're thinking it through."

Abruptly, Ms. Pillsbury rose from her desk, walking over quickly to a chest high metal rack. She skimmed one hand over the stacks of pamphlets he could see neatly arranged on the shelves, before plucking a few out. She smiled at him as she turned back around, but Blaine could already see a frozen, uncomfortable edge to it. She thrust the stack of pamphlets into Blaine's hands.

"Let's just see if these help, all right? And maybe you can come and talk to me later this week?"

Blaine glanced down at the glossy cover of the topmost one. _My __Useless __Talent __Doesn__'__t __Necessarily __Make __Me __a __Useless __Person_ it proclaimed in cheery red lettering. He felt his eyebrows climbing up into his hairline…was she serious? When he looked back up at the woman, though, he could read nothing but earnest sincerity in her expression.

"It's perfectly normal to be a little embarrassed by your Mark…but whatever your talent is, it's nothing to be ashamed of." Ms. Pillsbury's voice was more confident now that she was simply reciting after school special slogans.

Blaine barely restrained a bitter laugh. God what he wouldn't give to just have a Mark that was "a little embarrassing." Still, he couldn't bring himself to be angry. Ms. Pillsbury was only trying to help…however bad she was at it. He raised the pile of pamphlets in a little _cheers_ gesture, making a show of tucking them into the zippered portion of his backpack.

"Well," Ms. Pillsbury said awkwardly. "Let me just write you a pass to your first class." She grabbed a pad of pale yellow slips, scrawling his information down and ripping it off. She handed it to him with another small, nervous smile.

Her fingers accidentally brushed his as he took it, and Blaine felt a soft flutter of warmth rush through him. The Mark on Ms. Pillsbury's hand flared, a barely-there sparkle of gold and green, and the same shimmer of gold flashed in her eyes. Ms. Pillsbury froze, her jaw dropping slightly. Blaine yanked his hand back, tucking his arms defensively in against his sides.

"Sorry," Ms. Pillsbury said instantly. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to invade your privacy." She looked so genuinely distressed, and Blaine sucked in a deep breath. Her talent wasn't that strong…likely she couldn't sense anything more than the strongest emotions, and such a brief contact wouldn't have let her get more than a glimpse of his feelings.

Even a glimpse was too much, though.

"Blaine—" she began, her voice careful, sympathetic. He ignored it, gathering his things quickly. He rose, still with the bland, polite smile he had learned from his father fixed on his face.

"Thanks for everything," he said. "I'll be sure to come to you if I have anymore questions."

Ms. Pillsbury's mouth worked soundlessly for a few moments before she subsided, as Blaine had expected her to. She seemed very nice…but even knowing her for only a few minutes, Blaine could tell she hated confrontation. She nodded her acquiescence, and Blaine hitched his backpack back up onto his shoulders.

"Blaine," she tried again, just as his hand closed on the handle of her office door. He didn't turn around, instead keeping his eyes trained on the hallway just outside the glass walls. "Please think about everything in those pamphlets. McKinley…McKinley's not like Dalton." Her voice dropped on the final words, and Blaine felt his lips twist into a grim, humorless smile.

He'd only been at McKinley for a little over half an hour, and he could already tell that _that_ was the understatement of the century.


End file.
